


Stress Relief

by intangibly_yours



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Pre-Calamity (Legend of Zelda), Really created just so I can work on writing smut??, Shameless Smut, Smut, if you can call them friends, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intangibly_yours/pseuds/intangibly_yours
Summary: Pre-Calamity. Zelda and Link, the princess and her appointed knight, and how they take advantage of their close proximity away from prying eyes.OrZelda and Link use each other as a form of stress relief. Cue the smut.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 126
Kudos: 443





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the hoard of Zelink writers I know, love, and admire. You know who you are!  
> Also, all the thanks in to world to [dontwaitupxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontwaitupxx/pseuds/dontwaitupxx), [AshleysWrittenWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshleysWrittenWords/pseuds/AshleysWrittenWords), and [OmegaZeta5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaZeta5/pseuds/OmegaZeta5) for their lovely input and advice!

She is eleven and he, thirteen, when they first meet.  _ Link _ , he is called, not unlike his predecessors. His eyes are large, anxious at all the gazes set upon him and the sword on his back. 

Zelda is no different from the rest. She stares and stares and stares until the hope that sparks in her chest is reflected in the green of her eyes.

A partner. She has a partner.

He catches her look, and she thinks she catches the slight upturn of his lips.

From then on, the castle holds yearly balls to celebrate the reunion of the Hero and the Princess with the Blood of the Goddess. For the first few years, her father manages to calm the hearts of the people, convincing them their success is foretold in the stars, but even those words have lost their worth as Zelda’s powers remained dormant.

At the first ball, Link and Zelda dance awkwardly in slow circles. He’s a novice and she leads him the best she can. She takes pride in being better at something than the Chosen Hero, but three, four, five dances in, he picks up the steps and is nearly swinging her around. He’s laughing, she is too, and the dimples on his cheeks are awfully endearing.

She tells him she’s impressed at how quick he learns and his face brightens with a touch of pink. 

“Thank you, Z—Princess Zelda,” he stutters, and she wants to say it’s okay for him to address her informally, but her father calls her over. She curtsies—he bows—and they go their separate ways.

The year after, they dance again, as customary, and she’s in awe at how much his features have matured. His boyish nature is melting away, and she feels further away from him despite their small age difference. Perhaps it’s because the distance between them  _ had  _ been literal. In the last year, he’s been away training—in the Hebra mountains, Zora’s Domain, Eldin Canyon. Sometimes she glimpses him near the barracks training, and while she stops to admire his form, swiftness, precision, it hardly counts as getting to know him.

And so, the change in his demeanor is shocking.

He’s...subdued. He doesn’t smile at her, not as she twirls more forcefully and nearly slams into him when he tugs her back, nor when she makes her silliest face. Frustration builds in her chest and climbs up her throat and stains her neck and cheeks red. 

She thought—she thought they could be  _ friends.  _ But how can they be when he hasn’t said a word to her?

“Why won’t you talk to me?” she asks, and perhaps it’s the waver in her voice that breaks his neutral expression. 

“Princess…” he says, and she hates how he can’t even say her name now. What has happened to him in this last year?

But the song ends, they split, and she doesn't give him a chance to ask for a second dance.

When  _ she  _ is thirteen, Link seeks her out for their third annual dance. Fifteen looks good on him, even if the royal guard uniform sits slightly loose, but she doesn’t let it distract her from his behavior the year before. He’s in the castle more often now, but their paths rarely cross. He’s as stoic as he ever is, but there’s a trace of a smile when he proffers his hand. They waltz to two consecutive tunes, eyes trained on one another, and she decides that these short dances aren’t enough to truly know him. When the party is in full swing and the adults are too intoxicated to pay her much attention, she leads him to the balcony. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, much more kindly than she had the year prior.

He looks at her quizzically, one brow arched, and her heart pounds at his open expression. “Are you?”

She knows what he’s referring to, and because she doesn’t want him to know of her insecurities, she nods.

“Good,” he says, “They don’t know anything.”

Her chest swells at his words. “Thank you.”

Somehow, their short exchange has them standing toe-to-toe, and he’s looking at her with bright, all-consuming eyes that makes her think of the other Princesses and Heroes. 

_ You’re beautiful,  _ he whispers so lowly that it’s only the wind that carries it to her ears. His fingertips are tentatively touching hers and she surges up to meet his lips. It’s improper, but to her, it makes sense. After all, they are fated, are they not? Time and time again.

He kisses her back, a gentle kind of pressure, but they’ve been gone for too long. They part with a matching blush and return to the crowd as if nothing happened.

Six months later, the court gossip reaches Zelda in full swing. They ridicule and criticize her. They praise him and hang on the words he rarely spoke. 

_ Skilled at the sword. _

(Unlike her with her magic.)

_ Well-mannered.  _

(They say she’s temperamental.)

_ Quick learner.  _

(And she’s clearly struggling. Goddesses—their first dance! What a fool she had been to think  _ he  _ needed  _ help. _ )

_ Exactly what the Chosen One should be. _

She shrinks in the shadows. Watches as the people heave him onto a pedestal. Watches as the kingdom places all their hopes and dreams on his shoulders and discards any belief they ever had in her. 

Girls constantly throw themselves at him. 

(When she sees a pretty brunette grab his collar and plant her lips to his, Zelda needs to look away. )

Had he been playing her the whole time?

_ (She doesn’t see how he turns his head at the last minute, doesn’t notice the way he looks after her retreating figure and stares and stares and stares.) _

It isn’t like they have many chances to meet up—as the years have proven—not with her prayer schedule and his training regime. So she buries the memory on the balcony in the back of her mind and tells herself it doesn’t matter that she gave her first kiss away to a boy who only made time for her because she would one day be his monarch.

Zelda had thought they were the same, and she was wrong. They couldn’t be more different.

At fourteen, they dance, and when he tries to lead her to the balcony, she accepts the hand of another nobleman. She avoids him all night, dancing with everyone, and doesn’t leave him an opening.

But no matter how much she weaves through the crowd, she can feel his eyes follow.

Fifteen, their hands grip one another tightly in a silent tug-of-war. His face is impassive against her unrelenting glare, but she thinks she sees a hidden defiance.

Sixteen, she is furious and all but drags him outside. He was assigned her appointed knight that morning, and her rage at this proclamation finally boils over after a full day of simmering.  _ Reject it,  _ she demands, but they both know he can’t. There is a fire in his eyes that he usually keeps subdued, and perhaps she has sparked his anger too.

But the longer she holds his gaze—withering green against obstinate blue—the more she becomes in tune with the charged air.

They’re in their spot, even though “their spot” has only been visited once before. The balcony is small, lit only by the light from the ballroom, and the last time they were there, she discovered the taste of his lips.

She tastes the inside of his mouth this time. It hints of fruitcake. 

Zelda doesn’t remember making the first move, but it must’ve been her because Link has always been the epitome of control. But he catches her anyway, arms firm around her waist and feet quick to guide them into a corner and away from prying eyes. He’s filled out his royal guard uniform much more now than he did the years prior, and she has a new appreciation for it now that his primary garb is the Champion Tunic.

Not that she is complaining. After all, she stitched it herself, and knows how to emphasize his physique.

Her back hits the wall, but his hand cushions her head from doing the same. Into the kiss, she pours all her frustrations, fists pulling him closer only because she can’t punch him. Fingers curl into her hair, and from deep within his throat, a growl rumbles, low and sensual. 

And then the space in front of her is empty and cold. She blinks twice only to see Link three paces away, back straight with hands clasped behind his back. Two more blinks and the sound of heels clicking reaches her ears.

The commander of the royal guard steps out. His father.

“Link, I’ve been looking for you. What are you—” Realizing his son’s attention is not on him, Sir Aron turns to see her still braced against the wall, his astonished expression poorly contained, not unlike his glint of suspicion.

She doesn’t want to consider what she might look like.

“Your Highness,” he bows, “My apologies. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Not a surprise. She hasn’t hidden her distaste for the Hero recently.

Zelda clears her throat. “As my appointed knight, Sir Link must accompany me everywhere.” She struggles not to grimace at her words. “Even if all I wanted to do was get some fresh air and alone time.”

A sort of realization dawns on Sir Aron’s face, and perhaps she does look a bit disheveled but now he seems to have attributed it to fury rather than anything indecent. He isn’t wrong either way, truly speaking.

He turns back to Link and instead of saying whatever his original intent was, he claps the boy on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later. Take care of the Princess, Son.” He bows to her again and she nods to indicate his dismissal.

Both she and Link let out the breath they were unknowingly holding. Their gaze meet again, and the spark she had hoped to have at least diminished upon their separation merely amplifies. 

Zelda pushes off the cold stone, straightens her dress, and says, “I would like to retire to my room for the night. I believe it is now your duty to escort me.” 

With his arm across his chest and head lowered, he responds with, “Yes, Princess.”

No one questions either of them as she leaves the ballroom with him trailing behind her, not with her citing the need to rest in order to rise early for prayers, and him with his destiny and duty to protect her. And even if some think it strange, they trust him, and no one glances twice in their direction.

And no one sees when, upon arriving at her door, she grabs the fabric of his uniform and yanks him into her room. 

Oh, how convenient, this new role of his is.

It is she who shoves him into the wall just as the door shuts behind them, sending the navy cap of his uniform toppling to the floor. Her hands travel up his surcoat and hook around his neck while his latch immediately behind her ear and into her hair as if he had long dreamt of running his fingers through it.

_ Closer, closer, closer,  _ she urges through the press of her body, and whines in protest when he draws her head away.

“Princess Zelda,” he rasps, and her gut clenches at the roughness in his voice, “What are we—Are you sure—?”

“Yes,” she says, trying to close the gap between them but his hold is unbudging. “It’s just a one time thing. A stress relief of sorts. And it’s convenient, now that we’re stuck together.”

She spits out her list quickly, whether to convince him or her, she really doesn’t care. She just wants his lips on hers again, and then perhaps in other places too, and she rather not make it a royal order.

He still seems hesitant, so she adds, “I know you need it too.”

He stares, expression unreadable, but the darkening of his irises, molten and enticing, cues her to his assent before his nod does.

And then his hands are behind her knees, her feet off the ground, and not even a full breath later, her back lands against the softness of her bed. He climbs on top, caging her between his limbs, and kisses her senseless. It’s more tongue than lips, more filthy than the prim she is taught to be. It’s Link and Zelda, destined or not.

She tugs at his surcoat. It needs to go.

He obliges, not that she ever doubted he would. When she lifts her hips to allow the skirt of her dress to bunch at her waist, her knee brushes against a part of him that is hard and long. She repeats the action again, if only because of the choked breath he releases at the friction. 

“ _ Princess _ ,” he grinds out in what might have been a half-hearted warning, and for that, she merely smirks. Her sexual experiences are limited to the kiss they shared when she was thirteen and her lithe fingers under her covers at night, but she has books to fill in some of the blanks. She takes his wrist, guides it up her ribs, and watches as his eyes remain transfixed as she palms her breast with his hand. He needs no further encouragement, squeezing her gently, roughly, thumbing her perked nipple over fabric _.  _ His teeth wander to her throat, tongue wet and hot on her pulse, and she nearly rips her collar trying to give him more access.

He takes a sharp intake of breath as she pulls the bodice of her dress low enough to reveal her shoulder. His lips are there in an instant, sucking on the spot just below her collarbone, occasionally biting and then soothing with his tongue. She moans quietly at the sensation, entangles a tight grip in his dirty blond locks to keep her grounded, and slides a leg along his until it rests on his hip, unconsciously arching up. He hums with approval, free hand flying to her thigh and tracing circles up and up and  _ up.  _

It feels too good, she realizes, this stark difference in how they move against each other. Her studied actions against his practiced hands.

She gasps out, half accusatory, “You’ve done this before?”

He groans into her shoulder, his right hand stilling from kneading her breast, the other ceasing its ascent up her thigh. He lifts his head and his expression is blatantly frustrated. 

“You—two years ago, you denied me.” His jaw locks against the anguished intonation of his voice as his fingers flex against her flesh. “I thought you didn’t—not with me. I—” He releases a shuddering breath, blue eyes burning like the hottest flame, and the heat that had pooled in her stomach is now between her legs. “Should I stop?”

She considers the ache, considers the chiseled form she knows he has, considers his skill with a sword and how that might translate to bedroom activities.

“Don’t you dare,” she commands, and he has the nerve to give her a cheeky grin.

“As you wish.”

They are all hands that night, lips pressed so tightly against one another as to leave their cries unheard by all who might pass by on the other side of the door.


	2. Of Ceremonies & Libraries

He’s everywhere.

To say Zelda is infuriated would be the understatement of the year. No matter where she goes—the library, the Ancient Sheikah Tech lab, out in the field for her botanical studies—he follows exactly three paces behind her. She has no peace.

Not to mention, his gaze, so heavy upon her, makes her ridiculously hot and—and  _ bothered.  _ Most of the time, she can find things to distract her, but here, during this “proper” Champion inauguration, she can’t turn from the way his eyes fixate on her, tactfully hidden beneath his fringe, as he kneels before her. 

Because she can imagine several, more eventful, things he could be doing in that position.

She quietly clears her throat and rushes through the rest of her speech. The other Champions—Chief Urbosa of the Gerudo Desert, Revali of the Rito, Daruk of the Gorons, and Mipha, the Zoran Princess—are muttering things in the background, but she pays no heed to them.

Instead, she bolts the moment she’s done, but of course, where the others linger at the Sacred Grounds, he follows, closer and closer until they round a corner to a secluded part of the gardens and she turns so quickly that even he nearly rams into her.

He looks at her questioningly, his typical silence permeating the little space between them, so she grabs his face and smashes her lips to his. His response is instant, pulling her eagerly to him, touch burning even through the thickness of her clothes.

They break for air, and she takes pride in the swollen nature of his lips. Link, however, is just as confused as he was before. 

“I thought you said—”

He thinks too much, she decides, so she kisses him again.

“It’s convenient,” she repeats. “And you keep staring.”

He makes a derisive noise, one she’s unsure of how to interpret, but he pulls her close again, placing a trail of kisses down her neck, over her bosom and stomach, and then into the dip of her pelvis, and  _ oh _ —

She thought he was good with his hands, but she finds out, on that sunny afternoon, that he’s even better with his tongue.

* * *

One morning, she wakes to giggles resounding outside her door. She investigates, naturally, only to find her handmaiden red as berries conversing with her knight. To his credit, he doesn’t seem to be responding much to her.

It doesn’t stop the irritation from prickling at the back of her mind, so she swings open the door, still clad in her nearly translucent nightgown, and has to bite down her smirk at the way he sweeps her from head to toe. She calls her handmaiden in, and then gives him a coy smile before shutting the door behind her.

Out of sight clearly does not mean out of mind though, as her handmaiden continues to fawn over how  _ dashing  _ Sir Link is, and  _ Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel how strong those arms are? _

Zelda rolls her eyes and easily lies, “I am the least inclined to know.”

But she is reminded that she isn’t the first girl he’s messed around with, and it leaves her exasperatingly unsettled. She thinks back to that brunette, the one who dared to kiss him in public, and wonders if the girl is his lucky first. They’re all like her handmaiden, groveling at his feet for his attention. It disgusts her.

She’d like to see him groveling.

Her frustration lingers through breakfast and lunch, and it isn’t until they’re in a dark corner in the library does an idea strike Zelda.

She beckons him over to a loveseat and pushes him rather unceremoniously into it. Dress splayed across his lap, she straddles him and mimics his actions from the gardens.

His lips part expectedly as she leans in to kiss him, and a thrill shoots up her spine at his blatant show of desire for her. She peppers more kisses across his jaw and moves down the column of his throat, nipping at the skin just below the collar of his Champion Tunic. Her fingers work quickly at his belt, and he stops her hands the moment he realizes her intentions.

“P-Princess, I think we should talk about this.”

She looks up at him through her lashes, and says, “No.”

He sits up, ready to protest, but his pants are down and he’s in her hands, and with one languid lick up his length, he groans and falls back into the seat. She watches his head tilt back, forearm over his eyes, when she takes him into her mouth; watches his knuckles grow white as he grips the arm of the chair when she rolls her tongue around his tip. His hips jerk each time she takes him in deeper.

She knows he’s close when the muscles in his thighs grow taut and his fingers twitch as if he wants to touch her. But then the doors of the library creak and there are low, distant murmurs. Link doesn’t seem to notice, eyes still screwed shut and breaths shallow. They’re tucked so deep in the historical section that no one would find them without prompting, and while she knows this, she’s feeling rather vindictive.

So she releases him with a soft  _ pop.  _ He lurches up, chasing her mouth, and hisses a Gerudo curse under his breath that reddens the tip of her ears. His glare at her is so intense she almost regrets letting him suffer.

Almost.

Zelda straightens out her skirt and flashes him a mocking smile before disappearing down another aisle. 

To her astonishment, she runs into a friendly face.

“Kayou! What brings you here?”

The Sheikah court poet turns and grins brightly at her. “Princess Zelda, it’s a pleasure.” He bows, then takes her palm in his and places a kiss on the back of her hand. It’s such a dramatic gesture that she can’t help but laugh.

The familiar footfalls and jingle of belts resound behind her. She turns to face her appointed knight, if only to see how he’s faring after her abandonment, and scarcely withholds her gasp.

If Zelda didn’t know better, she’d say Link looks murderous.

* * *

Later, he enters her study when the candle is flickering low and the guard rotation is sparse. He stalks in like a predator seeking prey, lifts her onto her desk, and has her dress hiked up in record time.

He goes to his knees, but just as his breath warms the apex of her thighs, she tugs him back up, legs wrapping around his waist and bringing his hips flushed against her. 

“All of you,” she says, and she’s fascinated by the conflict in his eyes. “I want all of you.”

It’s a bold declaration, a claim on him that she doesn’t truly have, but she keeps her expression determined. There’s a storm brewing in his eyes, one that electrifies her skin in a not wholly pleasant way, and she can practically see the intensity of his presence—perhaps  _ anger? _ —radiating off him.

But before she can probe him about it, he deflates, and let’s his head drop to her shoulder.

“You’re a very cruel mistress,” he says hoarsely in some sort of surrender. “But you will need this, if that’s what you want.”

She has so many questions—What does he mean? How is she cruel? Need what?—but all of that vanishes as he sinks a finger into her. Her head falls back with a gasp, and he takes the opportunity to sprinkle kisses down the column of her neck, and then lower, and lower still, until his lips joins his fingers.

“It’ll make it hurt less,” is his reasoning before his tongue slides between her folds, and she thinks, well, at least  _ one  _ of her questions has been answered.

He has her writhing to his mouth and fingers sooner than she would have like, his touch careful and intentional. It leaves her off kilter in a way that differs from usual. 

It isn’t until he rises to his full height and begins unbuckling his belts does she discern the difference in his demeanor. He’s always been deliberate and passionate, yet now, he’s borderline detached. 

His pants hit the floor and he drapes her legs over his forearms. A nervous anticipation bubbles in her within her and she stops him with a hand on his chest. 

“Don’t you want me?” she asks despite him being poised at her entrance, undoubtedly hard and throbbing.

He looks anguished, torn, and, through gritted teeth, says, “ _ Yes. _ ” 

“Then take me.”

He hesitates—she hates it—but then thrusts forward, easing into her slowly and allowing her to adjust. Goddesses, it  _ does  _ hurt, but she bites through it, digs her hand into the material of his tunic and squeezes him between her legs.

He grunts, “Relax,” and she does after several, measured breaths. And then he’s moving again and she’s not sure she’ll ever have enough of him.

There’s none to compare him to, but he’s good with his hands, good with his tongue, and it’s no wonder he’s good in everything he endeavors at. He rocks gently against her even though she can feel the tension in his shoulders, and she thinks he’s knightly to a fault.

“Faster,” she whispers like a prayer, and he obeys.

The desk creaks under their weight, giving music to a tryst she’s beginning to speculate has been sung again and again within the shadows of the castle walls, but she buries the thought like she buries the warmth threatening to surface. 

She comes first because he’s methodical, but he follows soon after. It’s not a vision of white that leaves her boneless, but rather a wash of relief, of feeling like she’s being lifted on clouds, soft and tender and things she doesn’t care to feel.

Into the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet, his voice rumbles in a low timbre.

_ I hate what you do to me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose now would be a good time to tell you all that this was originally supposed to be a short one-shot, but then I got carried away, and dontwaitupxx told me to split it up so here we are. lol But what that means is that it's complete and I'll be updating daily until it's done. :P


	3. Cold Winds

Something shifts after their rendezvous in her study. Once, she feared he might have poorly regarded her like the rest of the kingdom did, but now she feels his contempt clear as day despite his placid expression. He keeps his distance from her, walking five to seven paces behind instead of his original three, and rejects all her advances. Nothing she says riles him up, and part of her now dreads he might’ve found someone else to entertain him, that she had been a one-and-done.

A small, tiny part that she buries deep, deep within.

As such, it is exceedingly refreshing when they’re sent to visit Rito Village and  _ Revali  _ causes his expression to crack into one of annoyance. She can hear the Rito’s goads from where she sits with Kaneli, and upon reuniting with her knight, has to implement all of her royal teachings to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter.

Link doesn’t look amused at her in the least. He adamantly declines staying in the Swallow’s Roost and drags her past the Flight Range to a small cabin in the snow. She protested of course, but he’s been dead set on defying her orders lately.

Zelda finally allows herself to laugh when she watches him furiously yank the door open and then slam it shut after they’ve entered. How humorous it is that it’s Revali who’s able to get under his skin, and she voices this thought to him.

Link turns from the hearth where the fire is blazing brightly and glowers at her with an expression that is equally as dark as it is salacious.

“What?” she asks, attempting to sound haughty despite being anything but. He strolls up until he imposes her space enough that she hits the door. It’s been weeks since they’ve been this close and her heart lodges itself in her throat.

“Stress relief,” is all he says.

At the touch of his hands on her hips, she visibly shivers. He’s warm,  _ so warm,  _ and she meets him halfway in an urgent, messy open-mouth kiss. It’s all tongue as they refamiliarize themselves to the other’s taste, teeth clicking in their rush. She feels him tug her and she follows, blindly tracing his steps until she bumps into the beveled edge of a desk. The memory of her study flashes through her mind, but instead of lifting her to sit, he turns her around.

“Well, this seems...vulgar,” she can’t help but quip, though they’re both shimmying out of their layers. She doesn’t even get the chance to remove her blouse before he presses against her from behind.

“You want it,” he says. She doesn’t deny it.  Not when he bends her over the table, nor when he spreads her legs apart. Not even when he pounds into her so hard she’s sure she’ll be sore the next day.

Somehow, between the table and the bed, Zelda is finally able to remove her shirt, deemed unnecessary in the blaze of the hearth and the heat of his skin. This time, he rolls her on top, and she finds there is much for her to learn about the variations of coital bliss.

But of all the things Zelda learns, the most pertinent thing is this: destressing Link means depleting his stamina—and  _ that  _ is certainly a feat.

It’s late—or early, she isn’t sure—by the time they rest. It’s strange, lying next to him after it all, with no need to hurriedly dress or sneak away. He’s on his back but she turned away, afraid of how intimate it is to just  _ be  _ next to him without a  _ purpose.  _

They don’t talk about it. He might have wanted to, once upon a time, but she had squashed all those conversations in the past. Now, they lie in silence, and it’s only pure exhaustion that stops Zelda from reading into the light tugs she feels at her scalp, from imagining him combing through her hair without inhibitions.

“You’re wrong,” Link says just as sleep begins to overcome her, “It’s you that gets under my skin.”

* * *

_ “Almost seventeen and nothing. Why, the Hero pulled the sword at thirteen!” _

_ “You would think she’d tried harder instead of running around playing scientist.” _

_ “I hope she isn’t distracting him too much. She can be a handful.” _

Zelda freezes in her ascent up his torso. She knows better than to pay heed to the nonsense of the court, but the sting still occurs and it chips at parts of her she wishes weren’t so fragile. Her nails pierce his skin, clutching onto him like he’s the very heart she’s trying to keep together.

“This is all your fault,” she hisses into his ear even as he unlaces her bodice. They’re underground at a hidden spring beneath her study. It’s secluded but susceptible to voices infiltrating through the vents.

Great for hearing the latest gossip. Terrible for holding a sensual mood. That stops neither of them.

Zelda allows him to tug her sleeves down, the fabric pooling at her hip before he drags it down further and letting her step out of it. She relieves him of his tunic and undershirt, then works furiously at his (stupidly many) belts. 

He releases a breath. It sounds a bit like a sardonic laugh. “My fault?”

She pushes him backwards and he just barely stumbles over his trousers before kicking them off completely. He surges back at her and throws her over his shoulder; she would’ve screamed if that wasn’t the equivalent of getting caught.

She  _ does  _ kick and thrash in his arms. He grunts, but his hold is secure, and soon her world spins and her head is submerged underwater. 

The spring is shallow, so all she has to do is stand to find air, but that doesn’t stop her from shooting him the nastiest glare she can muster. He raises a brow as if he isn’t the culprit.

“I hate you,” she glowers.

He takes two steps forward, grabs her face, and kisses her, hard; then pulls back with dark, striking blue eyes that appear to be staring right into the depths of her soul. She doesn’t like it.

“I know.”

She leaps at him, and he catches her,  _ of course he catches her,  _ forearms flexing around her thighs and palms cupping her ass. He lays her against the stony slope and shoves into her so discourteously that she has to bite his shoulder to muffle her groan.

There’s no other sound between them as they hold one another’s gaze, defiance and silent rage transposed in the thick atmosphere around them. The water swooshes around their waist, skin against skin causing ripples on the surface. It’s satisfying. Familiar.

Up above, a tune filters through, one easily recognizable as belonging to the court poet. At the same time her ears twitch, Link somehow manages to look even more irate. His pace slows until he’s taking long, rough strokes, hitting her deep again and again. It has her shutting her eyes, mouth parting in noiseless gasps.

“Thinking of someone else?”

“ _ What? _ ” she admonishes before she even completely gets her bearings. “Excuse me?”

“Did you start thinking about him just now?” His hips pause. “Or have you always thought about him?”

“Him?” Her brows furrow, and then she points up. “ _ Him? _ ”

He’s disturbingly expressionless. “Unless there’s another person?”

She all but kicks him away from her, using her hand to cover her chest and the water to keep the rest of her body modest. 

“Is there someone else I’ve been  _ associating  _ with that I don’t know about?”

Link seems to not care for modesty in the least. 

“You’re free to associate with whomever you choose to, Princess.”

_ Nayru’s ass.  _ She would throttle him if she didn’t know she’d lose the fight. Instead, Zelda takes several large breaths and runs through the small details he’s told her.

_ Her, thinking about someone else, while they’re in the act… _

_ Her, "associating" with others… _

_ Her choice... _

“You think,” she starts, incredulous, “that if I wanted someone else— _ him _ , much less, who writes ballads about my  _ eyes _ —I couldn’t have invited him to my bed instead?”

For the first time, she sees his face pink.

“When you put it  _ that  _ way…”

“There is no other way!”

He still tries to hold his ground, lips pursing. “But—in the library. You left me. To go to him.”

“I left you because I heard people come in,” she leaves out the bit of wanting him to suffer, “and not because I knew it was him. That was a coincidence.”

A sudden realization hits her.

“Is that why you were different that night?” He has the audacity to look sheepish. “That’s ridiculous! I even  _ told  _ you—” Zelda throws her hands in the air, only to jerk them back down once a moment later. “What about  _ you _ ?”

Now, he’s offended. “What about me?”

“There was a period. When we weren’t—” she doesn't want to say  _ together  _ because that implied too many things, “—fraternizing. Were there others?”

“After you? How could  _ anyone _ —” He stops short, threading his hand through his hair in some kind of nervous or frustrated tick, and settles on, “No.”

Her heart flutters.

“No?”

And she hates it.

“That’s what I said.”

There’s a tension in the air—one that’s vastly different from when they first walked in. It’s reminiscent of their first time on the balcony, then the second, then the time in her study, on her desk. If she really thinks about it, it’s in the way they touch, the way their breaths mingle, the way she feels his stare and the way she can’t look away if she lets herself get caught. It alludes to promises yet to be made, of a life uncertain but compelling and riveting all the same. It hints at what could be.

Unconsciously, her feet lead her to him, and he raises his arms to take her into his embrace like it’s the only natural thing to do. They fit well together, truly.

It scares her. This foreign territory—something more than just  _ stress relief. _

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispers.

He cradles her head, runs his thumb across her cheek. “Then don’t think about it.”

They sink together into the spring, hushed and reverent and soft and— _yes, just like that_. He’s holding her too tight and leaving her too breathless. Like she can have no other but him, like he holds the key to her future in more ways than the prophecies ever told.

_ Shedoesn’tlikeit. Shedoesn’tlikeit. _

It was never meant to be more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I reread my stuff and think, "What _was_ I thinking?" 
> 
> Anywho, Kayou singing about Zelda's eyes is a low-key shout-out to Bhujerban's contribution to my #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda Tumblr challenge: [The One With The Bard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051707). 
> 
> You can thank socksock for Zelda's choice in curse words and OmegaZeta5 for encouraging its use.


	4. Run Until You Can't

“And stop following me!”

Zelda huffs and stomps off, but a hand encloses her wrist and whirls her back around.

“Princess,” he says, tone stern and clipped. “I can’t protect you if you keep running from me.”

Goddesses, her heart aches. “As I’ve said, I’ve been fine without your assistance for  _ years.  _ Please unhand me. You are not my keeper.”

He drops her hand but he’s tense, as if ready to dart after her the moment she tries to leave his side again. It’s the fifth time this week she’s escaped his watch, and she’s certain he has a growing disdain for the Sheikah members who have been her accomplices. 

“The King—”

“Is that why you’re with me, Link? Was all this a ploy to make me more obedient to you?”

She knows this is not true, knows it’s a low blow to deal by the way his eyes widen like saucers and then narrow to slits, but she needs to get away.

(Nothing good will come from this, she knows, she knows.)

“I assure you, Princess,” he says through gritted teeth, “that was not my intention.”

(Because she’s a princess and he’s a knight, and sometimes being a Hero isn’t enough.)

“And if I recall correctly, was it not you who initiated all this?”

(Sometimes, it  _ hadn’t _ been enough.)

“My mistake.”

She keeps running.

* * *

Yigas. Three of them. After her. She doesn’t run fast enough.

Stumbles, in fact. Stumbles like she does in every aspect of her life.

Isn’t this a fitting end—to not even make it until Calamity Ganon strikes?

She hopes Link is enough. He must be…

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

...Link?

* * *

That night, Link is a mixture of frantic and silent. 

He carries her back to Vah Naboris with trembling arms and her pressed to his chest. She can hear the palpitations within his rib cage, alarmingly rapid and strong. He can't seem to stand still as Urbosa fusses over her, continuously curling and uncurling his fists, weight shifting from one leg to the other. When the Gerudo Chief advises for both of them to rest, to give Link a separate room and assign guards of her own, he vehemently declines. Says he would have no peace without her in his sight.

When the door shuts, he sweeps her into a crushing hug, seeking, feeling.

He peels her clothes off meticulously, fingers shaking and lips desperate against hers. “Zelda,” he breathes, over and over again, a mantra to calm his racing pulse as he inspects every inch of her skin. It clearly doesn't work.

“I’m alright,” she murmurs into the shell of his ear, tracing her tongue to its tip and back to where it met his jaw. He shivers beneath her touch, but his breathing remains labored, grasp tight on her waist as he draws her onto his lap. She sinks onto him, sheathing him within her and surrounding him with her warmth. Cupping his face, she pulls him into a kiss, slow and languid, taking what he gives and returning it tenfold. Their hips grind in a slow rhythm, but his hands are everywhere, continuously sliding up her arms, legs, back, as if still trying to convince himself that she is actually here with him. Alive.

They don’t speak again that night, not with words. He pushes into her, gently at first, and then harder and harder, timed to what is surely the pounding within his chest. Her heart burns, aching to soothe him. She peppers kisses across his face, strokes his hair that has long been undone from his tie, and meets his thrusts with her own force. 

Her world tilts and she’s on her back, his hips driving into her unsteadily. She watches his muscles stay taut, watches the sweat beading down his forehead and chest, watches him leaned down to capture her in a frenzied kiss and encase her in his arms. It isn’t until she finds her nails clawing against his shoulder blade and her legs hooking tightly around him, does she register her own panic at what could have happened.

She almost died.

Tears prick in her eyes, though she tries to will them away. She wants to comfort him,  _ not _ have him worry about her mental and emotional state too. She is alive, dammit. Link saved her.

Zelda curses her lack of self-control until she realizes the moisture against her cheek isn’t her own. At the turn of her head, he looks at her despairingly, pleadingly, and she holds him tighter. 

“You’re alive,” he mouths into her neck. Her lips quiver with a suppressed sob and she buries her face into his hair.

Together, they cry.

He doesn’t ask her to stop running from him this time, but she finds that she doesn’t want to run anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time, but this last scene is probably my favorite out of the bunch. 
> 
> Happy Friday!


	5. A Jealous Scientist

Zelda prides herself on being objective—it’s her job to be, after all, as both a scientist and a princess. In order to make sound decisions, she needs to gather the appropriate data and observation points. Only then can she settle on a  _ reasonable  _ conclusion or choice. It is practically a crime to merely  _ assume.  _

But if she is truly being honest, Link has always been the exception, and Zelda is  _ seething.  _

Zora’s Domain makes her uncomfortable for many reasons. One, King Dorephan was less than thrilled about her approaching Princess Mipha to be one of the Champions. Two, Princess Mipha has excelled where Zelda has failed—in the manifestation of her magic, in combat, in the love of her people. Three, said princess has also learned to control Vah Ruta so well that Zelda is having a difficult time finding  _ anything  _ to keep her mind off the scene in front of her.

Because four—Link is at home in Zora’s Domain, and Princess Mipha has secured a comfort with him Zelda can’t even fathom competing with. The two of them are currently situated on Vah Ruta’s trunk, sitting  _ so _ terribly close, while she is in the belly of the beast, desperately trying not to peek from the ledges like some awkward third wheel. 

An awkward,  _ jealous _ , third wheel.

There. She admits it. She’s jealous. After all this time of berating Link for following her and staring and overall never giving her a moment of peace, Zelda is jealous that someone else has gotten his attention. Someone, who in all essence, is a  _ better  _ princess than she’ll ever be (as her father constantly reminds her).

Zelda takes a deep inhale and turns from the window.  _ Terminals.  _ She’s here to check the terminals!  _ Not  _ watch Link fraternize with another girl and wallow in self-pity. So what if he seems to have more fun here than back at the castle? They’ll be leaving tomorrow anyway—

—And she groans. Because he will probably want to stay a few days, and how can she deny him that?

_ You can, _ a treacherous voice tells her,  _ you’re his charge. _

Zelda grimaces. She doesn’t want to be  _ that  _ petty…

...Besides, she already relented to allow Link to frolick with Mipha. She suspects she’ll do the same if he asks for them to linger…

She glances back outside.

Oh, now they’re  _ touching.  _ Sure, Mipha is healing him but it still seems rather unnecessary. He can hold Zelda, in a full billowing gown, up against a wall, he can certainly hold his own arm up against gravity. In fact, he does so all. the. time.

.

.

.

Goddesses be damned, since when had she become so soft with him? She could have just said no! Said, as her knight, he _has_ to be by her side at all times. 

“Stupid, Zelda.” she mutters under her breath, lightly pounding her head against one of the upper floor terminals. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Princess?”

She whirls around, hair whipping in her face so hard she sputters to get it out of mouth. 

“Y-Yes?”

Thankfully, Link and Mipha are standing on the landing below, so it’s likely neither of them caught her humiliating effort at self-comfort.

“It’s almost time for supper, if you’re ready, Princess Zelda,” Mipha responds. Zelda peers off the ledge and nods. She checks for her slate before scaling down the ladder, only to slide into warm, awaiting hands.

Startled, Zelda whirls around to see Link  _ awfully  _ close to her, though, upon seeing that she’s steady on her own two feet, he steps away to assume his usual distance. The only difference is that Link is giving her a funny look.

_ What,  _ she wants to ask, but Mipha is with them and it’d be best not to reveal how indecorous her behavior is around her knight.

Speaking of Mipha, the Zoran’s eyes are flitting back and forth between her companions as if trying to decipher a secret message. 

“Shall we?” Zelda says, already tired of the attention on her, and Mipha leads them out.

But just as Mipha rounds a corner, Link jerks Zelda back and places a chaste kiss on her forehead, right where—

“Oh no, you saw? Is it noticeable?” she asks, cheeks inflamed, but he chuckles and shakes his head, fingers lingering along her jaw.

“There are stones that glow at night. I think you would like to see.” Needless to say, her eyes light up. “We can leave tonight then.”

At this, she cocks her head quizzically. “Don’t you want to stay here longer with them?”

“There will always be other times,” he shrugs. “Besides.”

“Besides?”

His gaze darts side to side before landing back on her. And then he steps closer, weaves his hand to the spot below her ear, and brushes his lips against her once, twice, and then a third because she grabs him by the collar to keep him there. When they part, she’s in a daze and his eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“Besides, there are no walls here.”

He sweeps past her, fingers hooking gently on her belt to urge her to follow. His smug grin is tempered down to a slight smile by the time they catch up to Mipha. 

As for Zelda, she is sure that her face is red enough that even if there is a bump, no one would be able to discern it.

After supper, they barely make it past the bridge before Link drags her off to the side and has his way with her.

“There are still no walls,” she gasps as he hoists her against a large rock. 

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be quiet, Princess.”

“Zelda.”

It’s difficult to catch Link off guard, but there’s no other way to describe the way his eyes widen, the brief glimmer of vulnerability shining within their depths, before they soften into the most tender of looks.  _ At her. _

“Zelda,” he says, like he’s savoring the sound of her name on his tongue. He’s said it before—several times in fact in the depths of Vah Naboris—but there’s something different about how he says it now. Though perhaps she made a mistake, because now she can’t remember how to make her lungs work.

So she says his name instead, an exhale of inhibitions.

“ _ Link. _ ”

* * *

Zelda sighs blissfully, back against cold stone and hair damp from the elements. 

It’s here that she likes them best, with the rain pattering overhead and his breath hot on her neck. Here, he’s unrushed, his pace languid and slow. She has one leg curved around his waist, the other planted on the ground to give her leverage to meet his thrusts, voice keening as he drags out the climb to their peak. They’re deep in the Faron woods, in the crevice where the Spring of Courage is housed. Surrounded by tall cliffs and columns, she isn’t worried about being caught. 

Neither is Link, or else they wouldn’t be letting their guard down like this. And yet, Zelda is beginning to notice something peculiar.

Link is quiet. 

There is nothing new about this realization. Anyone who has ever encountered the Chosen Hero knows this to be true. He speaks only when he has to, and doesn't speak at all around some (like a certain Rito she doesn’t care to think about right now). It’s quite useful when they’re in the castle—he has a way of even muting the furniture—but out in the wild, she really believed he’d be more inclined to let loose.

But he doesn’t. Whereas her cries echo through the tree, Link stays silent; the only outward indication of his climax is the shuddering breath he releases. If she couldn’t actually see evidence of him enjoying their time together, she might’ve been afraid their arrangement is one-sided. 

(It’s not. She knows better.)

He places a lingering kiss on her lips before he slides away, then settles beside her and pulls the blanket over them both. It’s warm in this part of Hyrule, so they stay naked and savor the feeling of skin on skin. It almost makes her forget her earlier thoughts. 

Except it doesn’t. And Zelda is a scientist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Had a busy day yesterday so I didn't get to upload this chapter. Still be on the lookout for the next one later tonight! I'm currently debating on whether to add an epilogue though...


	6. Until Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just full on sin.

They start a game. One in which Zelda is as silent as she can be while simultaneously trying to get a rise out of Link.

Of course, she doesn’t tell him this directly. What she does do is mimic his quiet demeanor, muffle her voice in pillows or sheets, allow her usual moans to dissipate into breathless gasps. The first time, he looks at her strangely, but thinks nothing of it. They’re in her bedroom—maybe she is just being cautious.

The second time, they’re in the wilderness, so whatever excuse he had conjured up is no longer valid. He has her up against a tree, and while it’s not the most comfortable place to have sex, the vulgarity of it excites her.

He knows this, knows her better than she cares to admit, and yet she doesn’t make a sound. It’s in her face, in the way her tongue battles his furiously, in the digging of her heels into his rear, her obvious pleasure. It’s only when his hips stutter, when she draws that shuddering breath from his throat, does she set her gaze at him in a haughty challenge.

He laughs. It’s a low, deep chuckle that has his shoulders shaking imperceptibly and butterflies doing somersaults in her stomach. He kisses her forehead, affectionate and full of feelings neither dare to speak of, and lowers her legs to the ground. Then his lips are on hers again, full of promise and acceptance of her challenge, and she’s amazed at how he still manages to send shivers up her spine and down to her toes.

So begins a variety of... _ instigations.  _ He teases her to the cusp of insanity and then puts her into all the positions that typically had her writhing and screaming his name. Bent over her desk, on top of it, wrists tied to her headboard. In return, she tops, runs her nails across his skin, whispers dirty, filthy words into his ears that earns bruises the shape of his fingertips on her hips. 

(The loudest she has ever gotten him was the night her father reprimanded her on the bridge to her study. She was beyond angry, and who better to help her relieve her stress than her appointed knight? She mounted him in reverse, had him choking on his own breath, and swore she would’ve won their game had he not been knowingly playing.

...They called a temporary truce when he consoled her at the Spring of Power.)

Truthfully, her orgasms have only heightened with the intensity of their combined effort. This may be the very distraction her father condemns her of having, and yet she has never felt so  _ blessed  _ by the goddesses to have Link in her life. It is only the self-control and self-motivation that had her continuing her prayers after ten years that keeps her from losing the challenge, from begging him to take her harder, faster.

And then he does the one thing she should have seen coming. He stops fucking her.

Now, it might not have been so bad had everything ceased all together. But no—Link does not half-ass anything. He’d work her up, sometimes with his hands, other times with his tongue, until she’s ready to burst, break, snap like a harp string, and  _ pulls away.  _

And always, it’s her withering gaze against his smug satisfaction.

That low, dirty, infuriating, cheating  _ knight.  _

Well, if he wants to play it that way, she will up her game as well. 

Of all the things she knows about Link, there is one Zelda has never questioned. The way he sometimes takes one step closer to her, the stern set of his gaze that simmers with repressed annoyance, the increased fierceness of his touch when he later pulls her into a tight corner.

It all occurs when they’re around Kayou, the court poet. 

Like many Sheikahs, Kayou sports the iconic white, luminating tresses and captivating blood red eyes, details that she may or may not have once mentioned to Link to incite the twitch in his left eye. 

Today, they’re in the gardens. All three of them. Link is standing two paces away, dressed in his Champion Tunic, fingers tensed and ready to draw the sword on his back at a moment’s notice. Zelda is on a bench, and Kayou is  _ right  _ next to her.

Kayou is singing to her a ballad about a love that trespasses the test of time, that has the power to bring light to the darkest of realms, etcetera, etcetera. Truly, she isn’t listening too closely, the periphery of her vision trained on Link and the tension in his shoulders. There is a mark just to the right of the collar of his shirt that had served as a warning to him for the card she is playing now. If he was confused the night before, he has full clarity now.

When Kayou’s voice softens to a hum, Zelda takes it as a sign to clap her hands enthusiastically, letting a palm rest on his arm as she praises him in a sickeningly sweet tone.

“Oh, Kayou, how  _ creative  _ you are. I am sure the court is just as grateful as I to have you entertaining us. Please tell me you have another song? I would love to hear more.”

The poet is a flustered mess, “A-Anything for you, Princess Zelda.”

Zelda has nothing against Kayou. In fact, she completely appreciates all the time he used to spend with her in collecting relics. Perhaps he would have continued doing so if Link hadn’t been assigned her appointed knight, but it is no secret that he harbored a crush on her that she did not reciprocate. Having Link saved her from addressing it directly, but it doesn’t mean she stopped viewing him as a friend. A friend who is now forcing her knight to clench his fists and click his teeth together to keep silent, whether the poet knows it or not.

Though, judging by the small smirk and the flicker of red eyes to the knight behind her, Kayou might know more than she thinks. Or he likes to have something over the infamous Hero, which she can’t really fault him for.

They stay for another song and then Zelda retires to her room. Later, she goes to dinner before turning in for the night. Link, of course, is with her the whole time, but not once does he steal her into some dark alcove or cage her into his arm like she had expected him to. In fact, his expression is perfectly blank. It eerily resembles what he looked like prior to his assignment to her. 

She almost feels bad, but, quite frankly, she is too sexually frustrated to be.

The moon is high into the sky by the time Zelda is done scribbling in her journal. She reaches up to stretch her limbs and proceeds to bed. Just as she leans over to blow out her candle, it extinguishes, and her room is suddenly draped in black. The hairs at her nape stand erect and goosebumps line her arms, but instead of fear, a thrill surges through her like lightning to metal.

Her gaze darts to the balcony but he’s already in front of her, irises incandescent and enrapturing and  _ blue.  _ Not only that, but half his face is covered by a dark grey cloth with the same fabric encasing his entire body and leaving little to the imagination. A red-eyed symbol stares back from his chest and the pieces fall together in her mind.

It’s his Sheikah armor, and Goddesses, she might be having heart palpitations.

His eyes hold hers in a leveled stare, heated and brimming with unrestrained  _ want _ , and extends a hand out to her. 

“Will you have me?”

_ Oh— _

“Yes,” she says, and has to immediately bite her tongue to stop the  _ please _ from escaping her mouth. She takes his hand and jerks him onto the bed with her. 

Or at least, that’s what she tries to do.

Link doesn’t budge, standing solidly still as if she hadn’t just put her full body weight in trying to move him. “Link?” she questions lightly, suddenly unsure, but he drops to his knees and spreads her knees apart. She falls back slightly, bracing on her elbows as she feels lips ghost her thigh through fabric. Her nightgown is white and sheer and thin, and hinders him none as he noses the hem higher and higher while a finger drags her cotton panties down and off. She’s entranced, stares as he uses the same finger to lower his mask and flashes a canine at her. And then he presses the flat of his tongue, hot and heavy, right at her center, and she’s  _ gone. _

“ _ Link, _ ” she says again, this time it’s breathless as the air is stolen from her lungs. He strokes against her purposefully, circling her clit, nipping gently and then sucking hard. A shrill is trapped in her throat because he feels heavenly but not enough. She needs more of him—his fingers, or better yet, his hard, throbbing co—

“What do you want from me, Zelda?” he murmurs, and the vibration sends a shockwave straight up her spine and leaves her head feeling dizzy and muddled. It takes her longer than she cares to admit to gain her bearings again.

“You already know,” she tries to assert, but he rises to his full height, bringing one knee onto the mattress, and towers over her.

“Do I?” Zelda nearly groans at the way he drags his tongue along the crest of her ear. “Maybe I would like to hear you say it all the same. And then I can give you what you want.”

There’s a catch to his offer because Link  _ never  _ steps down from a fight. Even so, she can’t prevent the way her body lurches off the bed when his fingers brush against her clit, rough with the material of his glove.

“I—” she chokes as he repeats the motion, “It’s  _ you  _ I want to hear. I want to know you enjoy this t- _ too! _ ” Her mouth snaps shut as sob threatens to escape her lips at the pressure of his thumb and two digits nudging at her entrance. 

His expression softens at her declaration, though his ministrations don’t cease. 

He leans in and kisses right below her ear. “Zelda,” —Goddess, help her, just the sound of her name is nearly enough to set her over the edge—“You are more, so much more, than I could ever hope for.” He slides into her, fingers curling, pumping. “Every second,” he inserts a third and Zelda bites her forearm to stifle a scream, “with you, like this,” he takes her hand away from her mouth and rests it against his cheeks, “is everything to me.”

She’s tense, so tense, imprinting half moons into his skin, when he commands, “Come for me, Zelda.”

And she does, breaks like a dam, arching into his hand and pulling him down into a greedy kiss. He obliges her because he always does, matching her aggression and letting her ride out her climax. 

His fingers are glistening when he withdraws from her, the fabric of his glove drenched in her wetness. He brings them to his mouth, like he wants to taste it  _ (as if he doesn’t already know) _ , but then redirects them to her instead. 

“I want you to know how good you taste to me.”

To be honest, she isn’t keen on trying, well, herself. But he lifts a brow at her in a quiet challenge and she succumbs if only to keep him from taunting her. It’s with his fingers in her mouth, the unique flavor of her cum on her tongue, that she realizes he’s talking more tonight than he ever has before.

Not what she meant when she said she wanted to hear him, but with the way he looks ready to devour her, she isn’t about to protest.

Zelda catches his wrist when he pulls away, “If you’re going to touch me, you should do it properly,” and tugs at his glove to emphasize. A mischievous grin stretches across his face.

“Go for it.”

She does, but only to see his sleeve curiously stretch as well. 

“It’s one piece?”

He nods and climbs fully on top of her, heat radiating off his body and charming a flush on her own. 

“If you want them off, you’ll have to take all of it off.”

Her eyes drop to his pants. “It’s attached there too?”

“Why don’t you find out?” 

It’s not, she discovers, roving her hand up his chest and then down over his abs, relishing at the way his muscles jump underneath her palm. When she reaches the distinct waistband of his trousers, her fingers dip inside, carefully avoiding the obvious sign of his excitement. Inch by inch, his shirt rolls up. It sticks to him like a second skin, makes her salivate as it reveals the sharp cut of his hip bones. 

He rises just enough to allow her to pull the garment over his head, and then, seeming to think now is an appropriate time, proceeds to do the same with her gown. The air is brisk against her flesh, but she hardly feels it. 

He’s staring, eyes full of adoration as they sweep over her, the corner of his lips tilting up. She’s melting, floating—feels like molten gold being lifted on the wings of keese. It makes no sense, but little needs to when she’s with him. 

“What?” she whispers, reaching up to tuck fallen strands behind his ear. He chuckles and leans into her touch.

“You’re breathtaking.”

_ Ah,  _ she didn’t think she could have gotten any warmer, but her face is surely lighting up. She’s been complimented by many before, certainly, but Link is able to make her feel truly beautiful, and somehow, it makes her bashful. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Hero,” she says, and though it’s an understatement, he blushes as well. It’s so very endearing. 

Despite their mutual shyness  _ (ridiculous, considering how often they’ve engaged in these...activities),  _ Link steps back, feet once again planted on the floor, and draws down his tights.

“Are you ready?”

“For?”

Zelda doesn’t even attempt to look away from his cock as it springs free, erect and dripping with precum. She licks her lips and finally angles back to his face when he says, “Me.”

Dear Hylia, that alone is enough to leave her absolutely  _ drenched.  _

But of course he isn’t done. His bare hands run up along her thighs and his gaze is calculating.

“Turn around.” 

She could chastise him for giving her an order. Could have pulled rank. Could have switched the power roles around and have  _ her  _ way with him instead, if not for the almost violent shiver that rushes through her.

So she turns, props on all fours, and swishes her hair to one side of her neck. His hand rests between her shoulder blades and gently urges her down until her chest is pressed to the bed. He traces the roundness of her rear, brushes the underside of her breasts, rubs his member along the slickness between her legs. Zelda whimpers before she can even stop herself.

“Zelda,” he groans, and that’s all the warning she gets before he thrusts deep into her, full and hard and stretching her in the way it tells her it’s been too long.

He’s purposeful as ever, slow, long, steady, even though she can feel his thighs against her quivering with control. A hand reaches out and combs through her hair before bunching up at the base of her skull and  _ pulls.  _ Zelda lets out a breath before grinding her teeth together to keep any sounds to herself. Their game is still on, and if he thinks she would give in so easily at his change in demeanor, he has another thing coming. 

Link notices, and she’s not surprised. He has long proven to be attentive to her emotions and needs, has always known when to be defiant and when to serve her. He reaches around her, fingers seeking where her legs meet, and finds where she’s still sensitive. She gasps, he growls, and then his chest is heavy against her and he bites  _ down  _ into her shoulder.

Zelda lips part, her unabated moan at the tip of her tongue, when his hand slaps over her mouth and muffles the sound. 

“Can’t. Draw. Attention,” he whispers into her ears, the words punctuated by each collision of his hips. “What would they say?”

She hears him but her mind is fuzzy and she knows and feels little else but the grip at her skull and the length of him sliding in and out, still tortuously, achingly slow. She wiggles in an attempt to get closer, chasing his touch, but his arm around her holds her steady.

His breath is moist against her ear. “The Princess of Hyrule, being thoroughly fucked by her knight. On her knees for her knight.  _ Begging _ for her knight.”

He’s never been this vulgar with her before and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t send a surge of desire through her. Her lips part again to deny it— _ she does not beg _ —but his thrusts become rough and bruising and relentless, as if his words affected him just as much as it did her.

She feels her whole body tense up, toes curling as her muscles grow taut along her spine. The pressure of his fingers on her clit increases, and suddenly, her vision is white. It’s her face buried in covers that softens her cries.

He doesn’t let up. Her legs threaten to give out but he releases her hair and keeps her rear suspended, driving into her with a maddening force that has her fisting the sheets and suppressing choked sobs. She feels the tension coiling and building up again before she can even fully come down from her high.

“Screaming for him,” he says, panting now, sounding almost in awe, “For  _ me. _ ”

She turns her head to say,  _ who do you think you are,  _ but sees blueblue _ blue  _ as he watches her intently, open and raw before her. Whatever he sees has his eyes shutting and her name in the stuttering breath he releases.

He’s beautiful.

She holds his gaze, smirks, and goads, “What  _ would _ they say?”

To Zelda, it’s a poor attempt at being coy with how her voice pitches as he ruts against her, but his hips jolt, rhythm broken, and he seals his mouth over hers as he spills inside her, thick and hot. Their moans are low, frustratingly suppressed due to oppressive, constant reminders of who and where they are. 

He lets her hips drop onto the mattress and flattens on top of her, before rolling off and tugging her under the covers. She murmurs something about cleaning up but joins him afterwards, snuggling up against his side. He tenderly brushes the loose, golden strands from her face and angles her head so that she’s looking at him.

And then kisses her gently, as if time is theirs.

He allows only a hair’s breadth between them to whisper, “They would say, ‘He’s so lucky to have her attention.’”

“Is that all you think you have?” she asks, voice threatening to crack because  _ he has to know. _

Longing and affection well up in her chest, and words she had thought she boxed and locked away, burst from their confines. It must show, because his eyes enlarge, and he’s cupping her face before the words even leave her throat. 

“I—” 

“I know,” he interrupts, kissing her again, this time fiercely, desperately. It’s his tongue against hers, tasting and prodding and pleading. She feels it, feels the words he stopped radiating in the way he nips at her lower lips and sighs through his nose. His fingers thread in her hair and he rolls so that she’s half lying on top of him. 

When he pulls back, his gaze bores into hers, urging her to understand. 

He’s quiet when he asks, “You know too, right?”

And she does—understand, that is—so she nods. Suddenly, her heart feels heavy. “I know.”

He kisses the corner of her eyes before the tears even form. 

“After,” he promises.

She concedes. 

“After.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. I've decided to add an epilogue! Thank you for all that commented on the last chapter and weighed in! It's not written yet, so I won't guarantee you'll have it by tomorrow night, but I will try! I don't intend for it to be long though.


	7. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, once again, to [AshleysWrittenWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshleysWrittenWords/pseuds/AshleysWrittenWords) and [OmegaZeta5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaZeta5/pseuds/OmegaZeta5) for beta-reading this epilogue for me. It was torture and they really helped me through it. They're both excellent Zelink writers, and if you haven't read their stuff yet, I highly recommend it!

“I had so many things I wanted to ask you,” Zelda says, fingers skimming across his bare chest. It’s day five in his Hateno home and they’re basking in the morning rays that slope and curve across the covers.

Five days. Just five days ago, Calamity Ganon had been defeated. Five days ago, Zelda had descended from the beast and stood before Link, hands clasped as she looked on hopefully. She’s kind of ashamed that the first thing she asked him was, “Do you remember me?”

Thank the Three that his answer was _yes._ He rushed to her just as her legs gave out from underneath her, scooping her into a crushing embrace. “Zelda,” he breathed into her hair and all she could do was clutch onto his tattered tunic and cry.

(Because it was _him,_ and he _remembered,_ and she had lost so much already—how could she stand to lose him too?)

They made their way to Hateno first, Zelda opting for quiet before she had to be bombarded by the Sheikah. “I have a place there,” he mentioned nonchalantly, and she thought nothing much of it. They rode one horse due to Zelda’s weakened state and possibly as an excuse to stay near one another in public. It took two days in their exhaustion; the first night spent by the fire. He made her creamy heart soup, a gesture at _Before_ , and they bundled into one bed roll together under a canopy of trees. Perhaps they were too comfortable though because they didn’t wake until midday. 

Once they reached Hateno, Link ushered her to a house across a bridge. To her surprise, there was actually a sign that read _Link’s House,_ and there was something thrilling about being invited into his home. They ate dinner in relative silence, but once the dishes were washed and there was nothing to busy their hands with, they were left with just each other.

Alone. In his house. With not one else around.

Even after a hundred years, the atmosphere between them remained charged. The tension was palpable to Zelda, stoked a fire in her belly, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Kiss me.”

He looked beyond relieved, instantly cupping her face and surging forward to meet her lips. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he whispered against her mouth, their feet stumbling over one another as he led her upstairs. She almost corrected him—she technically didn’t ask—but they tumbled into bed, finally skin to skin after a lifetime apart, and her last lucid thought was _technicalities be damned_. The only thing she really cared about was their anatomy being in the right places.

They laid together that night, meeting for the second first time and feeling again and again the brushing of limbs. He was familiar, still her Link, but also a hint of something new and wild and unrestrained. It wasn’t unwelcomed; she found great joy in getting to know this side of him.

(And he was a little more vocal in the way he whispers, _I love you, I love you,_ as if he had been waiting a hundred years to tell her. Zelda absolutely did _not_ burst into more tears and muttered something similar but incoherent. Link just said, very pleased, _I know._ )

Within the sanctuary of his home and the threat of darkness gone, they slept for several days, occasionally waking to share small kisses before snuggling up again and falling into another slumber. Two days in, they got up long enough for a bath and a meal, and then fell back into bed without much more than forehead kisses.

Now, here they are, twisted in his blankets, the sleeves of his tunic slipping off her shoulders as she watches his chest rise and fall with every breath. Her fingers roam across the expanse of his torso, lingering as she traces a particularly dark scar.

“What kept you from asking?” he hums warmly, a gentle smile on his lips as his own fingers trail up and down her arm. She shudders slightly at his touch, the sensation tickling her skin.

“Many things,” she says, shying away from his gaze. “Maybe they would be too personal. Maybe it wasn’t any of my business. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to tell me.” Then, in a smaller voice, “Perhaps I was afraid you wouldn’t answer me at all.”

“Zelda.” She looks back at him. “You said you wanted all of me, and I gave it to you.”

She recalls the memory and quirks a brow. “Willingly?”

“Too willingly,” he chuckles, “Against my better judgement.”

He leans in and buries his nose against her neck, breathing her in and pulling her impossibly close.

“Ask me now,” he says, voice husky with something other than sleep.

Zelda bites her lower lip, toes curling against his calf. Her nails scrape over several patterns near his pecs. “Tell me about these.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

He laughs again, “Yes, Princess.”

Link keeps his face pressed to her throat, letting his lips graze her pulse as he speaks. “Most of them came from after I woke up. Took a bit of time to get used to swinging a sword again.”

She needn’t see them to know which ones he’s referring to. The recent ones are fresh beneath her fingertips; others wrinkled and linear, burnt flesh fused together. The remaining ones she had mapped to memory the few times he fell asleep before her. 

She strokes a line on his right shoulder.

“This one?”

“One of the new recruits misfired an arrow.”

The pale flesh between his shoulder blades. “And this?”

He growls. “First time interacting with the Yiga. I think I was fifteen.”

She follows a path around his rib with the pad of her fingers. It’s deep and gnarled, an angry shape that has drawn her eyes since the beginning. 

He doesn’t flinch but something in his demeanor hardens. “Thirteen. Akkala. A welcome ambush.”

Zelda jolts upright, propping herself up with a hand on his chest. The gold of her hair drapes down, curtaining them against the sunlight. “They sent you to Akkala at _thirteen_ ?” Of all the garrisons, the soldiers at the citadel were known to undergo the harshest training. Hardly a place to send a _child_.

He shrugs, loosing a breath. “I wanted to be knighted quickly.”

“Whatever for?”

His cheeks pink, adorable and reminiscent of their first dance together. “There was someone I wanted to protect.”

Her hand travels from his sternum, up his neck, and cradles the underside of his jaw. He holds her stare until a flush of her own blossoms on her face.

“...Me?”

“You,” he says, as if the breath he breathes is done for her too.

She thinks of his silence, of his iconic stoicism that had other knights admiring and cursing him simultaneously. She once held distaste for it herself.

Really, she should have known. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles ruefully. “It’s not your fault. They didn’t know anything, and no one liked that a country boy became a hero overnight.”

Zelda grimaces. “Perhaps they just didn’t like how you so easily bested them.” She certainly hadn’t liked how he so effortlessly climbed the ranks.

“Or so quickly caught the eyes of their princess.”

“You’re exaggerating,” she chides, rolling her eyes.

He snorts. “It’s a good thing I became your appointed knight _after_ I made a name for myself.” He takes a strand of her hair and twirls it around his fingers, tugging her down just slightly closer. “Only Revali and that court poet seem to not take a hint.”

“ _Revali?_ ” Revali liked her? “And you act like you were obvious with how you felt.”

“To them, I was.” Link pulls her down for a kiss, chapped lips brushing against her own. She sinks into him, boneless and yielding, allowing him to drag her on top and straddling him with her legs. He skims her thighs, fingers catching the hem of the tunic before opting to slide beneath it. “I’m sure they caught how I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you when we were in the same room.”

“You were my appointed knight—that was your _job._ ”

“Even before,” he admits, hand gazing at the underside of her breast. She shudders as her skin is exposed to the crispness of the morning air, shirt bunching around his arm. It’s near useless now but he shows no inclination of freeing her from it. If anything, he seems almost smug at the sight of her in his clothes. “Both bird and bard hated how I was suddenly allowed to be around you. What if I decided to have my wicked way with you in the times we were alone?”

His hips roll against her suggestively, the corner of his lips slightly upturned. “Though, little did they know, most of that was your doing.”

“You didn’t complain,” she scoffs, temporarily rising on her knees. The only thing separating them are his shorts, which she helps him slide down far enough until he can kick it off.

“Like I said, I was too willing.”

He moves against her, has her sighing at the gentle fiction. His thumb finds her clit and rubs gently to the rhythm of his hips. Link tilts his head until he can capture her left nipple with his mouth, teeth nipping and pulling lightly, tongue darting out to soothe. She combs through his hair, angles him back to seize him in a kiss as he lifts her up and then lowers her down, sliding into her smoothly, swiftly. They both groan quietly, a blissful meeting of breath and body.

“I still have more questions for you,” she insists, albeit breathless as he picks a steady pace, hand splayed across the small of her back to incite the swirl of her hips.

His lips are still hovering next to hers when he says, “Ask me.”

She’s tempted not to, with the way he’s losing himself at her touch, but she’s nothing if not curious. “What did you and Mipha talk about? When we were on Vah Ruta?”

Link’s movements stutter and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You want to talk about that _now_?”

It’s silly, she knows, but it’s been prickling at the back of her mind for decades. 

“I could climb off,” she threatens, trying to stay prideful, but his hands are immediately on her waist, firmly holding her down.

“ _No._ ”

The sternness in his tone has Zelda arching a brow. “Are you giving me an order, Sir Knight?”

He’s not phased. “Pardon me, Princess, it was meant to be a rather strong suggestion.”

She swipes at his shoulder but he grabs her wrist easily, leaning her down to steal a kiss. His tongue runs across her bottom lip, catching it with his teeth before slipping past her own and delving into the cavern of her mouth. “ _Zelda_ ,” he moans, the sound vibrating into her throat.

“That’s my name,” she tries to say humorously, but it’s broken by the hitch in her voice as he ruts up against her. She gasps as he hits a particular spot, eyes fluttering shut and fingers bruising on his skin. Her head is swimming. It’s hot and heady, dizzying and overwhelming, and—

“You’re trying to distract me!”

Zelda pushes herself upright, half-heartedly glaring down at him. He groans at her movement, at the way it makes her grind into him.

“Zelda,” he says again, breath strained, “Can’t we—after?”

“ _No_ ,” she imitates, but it sounds much more regal and refined in her practiced intonations. “I’ll reward you handsomely if you oblige me.”

This piques his interest. Instead of answering, she dips her fingers past his lip, watching as his tongue darts out and coils around them. Once sufficiently lathered, she slides them between her vulva and then stills, just barely touching where she wants them most.

He’s captivated, mouth dry. “Don’t stop.”

“Then answer my question.” She’s aching and hopes he doesn’t call her bluff.

He makes a desperate, exasperated kind of noise before encouragingly rolling his hips. Zelda let’s her head fall back, chest arching forward, free hand braced against his thigh. She feels his own hand flex on her rear.

“She talked about when we were kids,” he grits out, “about how she used to heal me.”

“Is that so?” she hums, finally allowing her fingers to press and slowly circle her clit. His gaze stays locked on her hand; she’s not sure he actually hears her.

“Said she would keep protecting me, that—” Zelda whimpers, pace and pressure increasing, and his voice cracks, “—shewantedtospendmoretimetogether.”

She freezes but he doesn’t, and the rough bump of his hips rocks her forward unintentionally. “O-Oh?”

“Zelda,” he glowers, as if saying _you wanted to know this._

She smiles sheepishly, pushing back and down, and hears a satisfied growl rumble in his chest. It makes her feel rather triumphant, makes her twist her hips in a way leaves his lips parted in the shape of her name.

Though perhaps this isn’t one of her best ideas; she’s having trouble focusing. 

Zelda clears her throat. “I suppose she did seem quite fond of you.”

“She loved me,” he says blatantly, very much disoriented with the words coming out of his mouth and the actions of his body. “She was going to propose, but for whatever reason, didn’t.”

Well, that was news. “You knew this?”

Link sighs, strained, impatient. “Not then. I found her diary after freeing Vah Ruta.”

“And what did you tell her?”

There’s a slight pause as he holds her steady, eyeing her almost wearily. “Are you worried? Even now?”

“No,” she lies futilely.

He tilts his pelvis and with a yelp, Zelda is suddenly on her back, air knocked out of her lungs as Link looms over her. He pushes into her again, a little more rough than she anticipated, his strokes heavy and deliberate.

Her walls clench at the intrusion, barely registering his words when he says something about visiting more often. His pace hastens, the creak of the bed frame loud and embarrassing, screaming for outsiders to hear, but Link pays no heed to it. He plunges into her again and again, deeper, fuller, until she no longer remembers that they’re having a conversation. 

However, Link doesn’t let her forget. “But I would still be first and foremost your appointed knight.”

“What?” she blinks, barely coherent.

“Yours,” he grunts, as if that is the only thing she needs to know.

“I-” Gods, what are they talking about? “ _Link_. I can’t-”

Fingers thread her hair back and sapphire blue gaze down at her endearingly. His rhythm slows as he props onto his elbows and strokes the rise of her cheekbone, leaning forward until their foreheads touch. “I was yours since I first saw you, dressed in blue, by your father on the dais.” His nose nudges hers. “ _The Princess with the Blood of the Goddess_ , they called you. But you were so much more. Spirited, determined, honest. All I wanted was for nothing to dim your smile.”

Zelda is still trying to grasp onto the present, clutching at the sheets to anchor her. “My smile?”

His expression is soft, though there is a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You smiled at me, that day.”

She doesn’t remember; the only thing she knows is that she couldn’t take her sights off him, and _maybe_ it’s not so outlandish to see herself staring at him in such a way.

“You did too, I think.”

He nods, a nearly indistinguishable movement. “I couldn’t resist.”

There’s a double entendre in his words that leaves her flushed despite where they are _(in his house, in his bed, with him between her legs),_ and while she’s a pleasant kind of speechless, she doesn’t want him to realize just yet how easily he can dissolve her into a puddle.

“I have one more question,” she says, thinking back to an old memory, an old game they used to play.

His reply is instant. “Will you keep touching yourself?”

She breathes out through her nose something akin to a laugh. “Yes.”

He flips them over again, momentarily eliciting a squeal from her until she reminds herself that she’s in control. With no little effort, Zelda mimics his purposeful strides, rides him slowly. Tosses her hair over her shoulder and lets him watch her in all her glory. His gaze turns glassy, and when she lifts her hips to slam back onto him, he releases a low, unabated moan.

_Curious._

She repeats the motion, fascinated by the way his eyes squint shut and then force open, and finds herself suppressing the sounds bubbling in her throat, if only to hear more of him. 

And that, she thinks, is the answer to the question she hasn’t asked.

He’s breathy and pliant, uninhibited and exposed, chest rising rapidly and blooming a stunning red. It’s mesmerizing, urges her on further, has her working furiously against her clit as he thrusts into her.

She’s cresting and it’s white and he pulls her down for a crashing of lips as the tension in their bodies fracture and dissipate. His hips stutter, her movements falter, and she presses into him with all the force she can muster as arms wind tightly around her.

They’re both catching their breaths, a sheen of sweat overlaying their skin. She slips off him but he doesn’t allow her to go far, bundling her back up in blankets. They’ll have to clean the sheets later and his shirt is a rumpled mess, but he doesn’t seem to mind so she won’t either.

He’s nosing into her hair, inhaling her scent, when he says, “You didn’t ask your last question.”

“I didn’t need to,” she says rather smugly, craning her neck up to leave a peck on his chin. “I’ve decided that I like you on the bottom.”

An unabashed grin, “I’m not complaining.”

“No, you certainly were not,” she jests, settling into the crook of his neck. He smells like the wild, like the flora and fauna thriving in the plains, like the ocean breezes across sea salt air. Hateno fits him, and she likes fitting him, too.

“I have a question for you.” His voice is deep and lazy. She makes a sound of acknowledgement, spent and not willing to do much more than. “Knowing you, you’ve always had it under control, so I was never worried.” He traces the pointed tip of her ear. “But it hasn’t even been a week, and last night and just now…” 

He gestures to their naked bodies. She waves a hand of dismissal.

“I made the contraceptive elixir the very first night.”

She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s raising a brow. “The very first night?”

“It seemed inevitable,” she huffs, attempting to remain dignified despite what she’s admitting, “so it only made sense to be prepared.”

“Inevitable, huh?” he whispers to himself, chuckling in a sort of disbelief. “I guess it’s always been inevitable that you’d be my future.”

Her cheeks burn, so she keeps them hidden from his eyes. “I don’t remember your tongue being this smooth a hundred years ago.” 

“I took a course on courting in Gerudo Town,” he shrugs. It displaces her slightly so she shifts back to her spot, wondering if he can feel the way her heart pounds within her ribs. 

“Oh?” she says, feigning indifference. “You’re courting me now?”

He untucks her from his shoulder and angles her head up, meeting her gaze with an oddly serious expression. “What did you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

_Oh._

“Following orders?” is her meek reply. He looks at her incredulously.

“You didn’t give me an order. You kissed me. I kissed you back.” Lips brush against hers, as if to emphasize. “And then I couldn’t get enough of you.”

It’s ridiculous how he can still leave her breathless. “Even now?”

“Even more so now.” 

He says it so earnestly, so simply that it has her insides tingling, vibrating, the feelings visceral and consuming in nature. It warms her to the core, so much that she no longer needs the blankets he has wrapped around her. 

And actually, they would only impede what she wants to do next.

She kicks them off; rolls off him and onto her back. Her arms reach overhead, stretching upwards, and his eyes darken as he follows the line of her body. She’s pleased at the feeling of being wanted; wants him to know she desires him just the same.

Zelda gives him a none-too-subtle look. “You know, you may have been sleeping, but I have a century of pent up stress to relieve.”

He barks out a laugh. It’s light and unrestrained; boisterous even. Then climbs over her and pins her wrist to the mattress. 

“I am here to serve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnddd that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed this little smut-fest. I have to focus hardcore on studying for the next two months, so it'll be awhile before I post on AO3 again. I will still be working on my [kiss prompts on Tumblr](https://intangiblyyourswrites.tumblr.com/post/628657455394684928/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts) though, so head there if you want to read more stuff or want to chat!
> 
> Also, I'm a sucker for scar-related stories, and one of my favorite writers, [embyrinitalics](https://embyrinitalics.tumblr.com/), wrote [**Stitches**](https://embyrinitalics.tumblr.com/post/188331223574/whumptober-2019-no11-stitches-masterlist) and its sequel [**Scars**](https://embyrinitalics.tumblr.com/post/188396987014/whumptober-2019-no15-scars-masterlist-word) for Whumptober last year, and they're phenomenal. Take a look!
> 
> Anywho, thank you for reading! I am so appreciative of everyone who has left comments/reviews/kudos! They certainly make my day and gives me that extra boost to write!
> 
> (P.S. Not that I expect anyone to notice, but the opening flashback actually referenced my other fic, _Even in Death_. You know, catching Zelda, creamy heart soup, day five in their Hateno home...👀 Yeah? Maybe not. haha)


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